The Ballroom at Midnight
by Restiva
Summary: Overindulgence at the Yule Ball has interesting consequences for Marietta. Femslash.


It was almost a quarter to twelve.

Marietta stood beaming in a cluster of girls in the centre of the great hall, the fingers of one hand lightly curled around an almost empty goblet of mulled wine, the fingers of another entwined with Cho's. Her strawberry-blonde curls had largely freed themselves from the hairclips that held them: bestowed liberty by the violence of her dancing, they fell over her shoulders and brushed against her silky carmine dress. Beside her, Cho was breathing heavily, her face flushed from the crowds and the compliments Cedric had been paying her all night.

Cedric.

Marietta's smile faltered momentarily, then she threw back her head and drained the last of the wine, weaving her way out of the gossiping circle of Ravenclaw girls and holding Cho's hand firmly. "Come on!" she yelled. "Let's have a last drink!"

Cho followed, her lips curving with unspoken amusement. She accepted the proffered goblet, raising it in a toast to her unusually drunken best friend. Marietta clinked her glass against hers, quaffing its entire contents as Cedric swept up for a last dance.

"You don't mind?" Cho enquired.

Marietta narrowed her eyes at Cedric before waving them both away, blindly reaching for another refill. Her hand brushed against a bottle; she almost knocked it over while watching Cedric lead his partner into yet another twirl on the dance floor. In his arms, Cho spun effortlessly, candlelight refracting on her silvery gown and jewellery. They looked like the Prince and Princess of Hogwarts.

"Jealous, Ravenclaw?"

Marietta turned as a Slytherin girl in her year snatched the wine bottle out of her reach and poured most of its remaining contents into her own goblet. Marietta searched for her name, seizing it out of memory as she held out her own vessel in an unspoken demand.

"You wish, Windstone."

Rebecca Windstone grinned, compliantly pouring the last dregs of wine into Marietta's glass.

"Merlin, but aren't you spunky drunk." The Slytherin leaned over the trestle table, titling her head and laying the empty bottle back on the table. Her dress was cut low, the fabric a blue so dark it was almost black, trimmed with a lighter shade of the same colour. Marietta caught her eyes: they were a piercing blue, outlined by naturally long lashes. She flicked her hair over her shoulders with practiced ease – she'd straightened the worst of her curls that morning, for exactly this possibility – and leaned forwards aggressively: two could play at that game.

Rebecca laughed, and Marietta felt her stomach twist in at the delightful audacity of the entire night. Spine straightening, her hands smoothed down the skirt of her silky dress. Her mother had been right, it seemed: red _was _good luck. Behind her, Cho danced unaware, and the fairy lights broke into frenetic movement, signalling the end of the Yule Ball. Around them, their classmates began milling, freeing themselves from the night and drifting away.

Rebecca lunged forward unsteadily. Her lips brushed Marietta's cheek, and she turned slightly, mouth pursed; Marietta paused, withdrawing moments later with a flush suffusing her usually pale skin. She stood dumbfounded on the wrong side of the table as alcohol coursed through her senses, dulling any last concern over propriety. With a last glance at Cho, a delicate figure leaning into a larger Hufflepuff one in the middle of the ballroom, Marietta reached out and caught Rebecca's wrist – guiding her unlikely Slytherin cohort out a door that definitely didn't lead to their common rooms.

Rebecca allowed herself to be led from the ballroom, only twisting her wrist free and digging her fingers into that of her companion's as they broke away from the other dispersing students.

"This way," she whispered, ducking behind a tapestry. Marietta followed her into the low stone couloir beyond, her eyes wide; she'd never particularly explored Hogwarts' hidden passageways and their seemingly constant presence always surprised her. Rebecca had her wand out, the tip glimmering. Marietta copied her, muttering "lumos" and stumbling slightly in the pale wandlight.

"Come on," Rebecca laughed, "it's hardly pitch black, Edgecombe."

Marietta merely flicked her hair over her shoulders again, inwardly marvelling at the wonders worked by mulled wine, and waved her wand in Rebecca's direction. "Ah, but you wouldn't want me to slip, would you, Windstone? Just imagine what mad magic might result…"

Rebecca's eyes twinkled in the unsteady light, and she stepped forward, sliding one hand easily around Marietta's waist and lifting the other to unclasp the butterfly clip holding up the last of her curls. Marietta relaxed in her grasp momentarily, enjoying the strangely sexual sensation of another female body pressing against hers, before breaking away to brush a strand of Rebecca's dark tresses off her face. Their eyes met again, and Marietta grinned, breathing deeply.

"Let's find a classroom."

Evidently concurring to the suggestion, Rebecca lifted her wand, her right hand clasping Marietta's left. They followed the winding passageway to another tapestry, this one three floors down, deep in the dungeons. Slytherin territory, Marietta thought, shivering. That explained Rebecca's familiarity with the path.

Rebecca pulled back the tapestry with hesitant fingertips, glancing up and down the dark corridor repeatedly before ducking out of safety and beckoning Marietta to do the same. The two girls lifted the hems of their dresses and padded softly down the hallway, finally stopping outside a heavy wooden door. Rebecca laid her hand on its brass handle, twisting sharply; the door swung inwards, and the two students followed its trajectory with haste. Marietta's heart thumped in an insistent and sickeningly rapid rhythm as she closed the door behind them.

"This room…" She caught her breath and held it, searching for calm. "This classroom is one of Professor Snapes, right?

Rebecca shrugged, winding through the benches until she couldn't be immediately seen from the door. It didn't seem like a particularly auspicious sign, but Marietta swallowed her objections to follow her, perching beside the Slytherin on a worn table.

"Professor Snape rarely uses this classroom," Rebecca finally explained, kicking off her shoes and laying one hand over Marietta's. "It's perfectly safe." She leaned forward and Marietta turned her head, their lips meeting for a lingering kiss. Marietta shifted on the bench, hands rising to grasp Rebecca's velvet dress, her long neck, her shadowy hair; as the seconds passed, their kisses became increasingly heated. Marietta shook her curls out and wrenched off her heels when they paused and, entangled again, Rebecca fumbled with the buttons of her own dress with one hand. As her bodice grew loose, she shifted her attentions; Marietta bit her lip in surprise, suddenly shocked into soberness as she felt Rebecca's gentle hand caress her inner thigh.

She pushed Rebecca away, breathing deeply – and then leaned forward once again, in a movement more deliberate but no less yearning. Rebecca couldn't suppress the fierce grin lighting her features as Marietta kissed the nubile flesh under her collarbone, her tongue placing insistent kisses in spirals upon uncovered skin.

"My turn," she whispered, echoing her earlier actions, drawing Marietta's dress upwards as the door creaked open, and McGonagall walked into the dungeon with narrowed eyes.

Marietta screamed: a high-pitched, breathy note of shock. Rebecca, her lips compressed and eyes lowered, concentrated on pulling her dress straight while trying to redo her bodice.

McGonagall watched them both in silence before gestured at them to stand. Marietta scrambled to her feet immediately, her hands rubbing the goose pimples on her arms. Rebecca, missing the gesture, remained on the cold flagstones until Marietta nudged her with her newly heeled foot.

"I haven't the slightest idea what you thought you were doing, but you've earned yourself both a detention and 25 points each from Ravenclaw and Slytherin," McGonagall snapped.

Rebecca lifted her gaze from her fingers as she reclasped the last button of her dress, her spine erect and chin raised fractionally too high to be respectful. She ignored the hair falling in a tangle behind her back, standing as still as a statue.

McGonagall frowned.

"You can serve your detention in here, Windstone. For your sake, I hope you're finished before Professor Snape, and your housemates, learn of your actions."

Rebecca's expression faltered; then she shrugged, her face once more a frozen mask. "As you wish, Professor."

McGonagall drew her wand, flicking two large buckets of water, an old fashioned muggle mop and a diminutive sponge into existence. Another flick covered every surface with a faint Gryffindor imprint.

"Your wand, Windstone."

Rebecca took two jerky steps forward, her entire body rigid. Keeping her eyes locked with McGonagall's, she withdrew her wand from the velvet sleave that had been concealing it and laid the instrument on the nearest desk.

McGonagall pocketed the branch of wood, a smile touching her thin lips as she strode to the dungeon door and gestured Marietta out before her. As her left hand clasped the doorknob, she looked back at Rebecca. The Slytherin still hadn't glanced at the cleaning products at the side of the room, still standing frozen with the last shards of her pride. "The door will unlock once this classroom had been thoroughly cleaned. You are welcome to collect your wand afterwards, provided I am not otherwise busy. And…" McGonagall conjured what looked like a Gryffindor branded sack, laying it beside the other cleaning products, seemingly as an afterthought. "If you don't want dirty your dress robes…"

Marietta bit her lip. She supposed it had been a long night for the Professors.

McGonagall closed the door with thud. Then she turned to Marietta. "Don't tell me what possessed you, Edgecombe. Just report to Professor Flitwick in the Great Hall; I'm sure he'll have some cleaning for you."

Trepidation lifting from her stomach, Marietta nodded, and went.

There had been other students in the former ballroom, restoring order with carefully wrought magic, their faces probably both flushed from the chill and the excitement of the night. Marietta had enjoyed being part of the throng, being one of the popular, flirting transgressors, smiling coyly to any question of exactly _who_ her indiscretion had concerned. Hogwarts was a big school, although (and here Marietta had paused, unable to escape the inevitable conclusion to her thoughts) it was just as homophobic as the rest of the Wizarding World. What would her mother think?... Not that she had any reason to think anything.

Still slightly tipsy, Marietta had shrugged away her worries and continued to catch fairies.

Three or so hours later, Marietta trudged back to the Ravenclaw tower. The castle was freezing, and her breath lingered like noxious smoke in the corridor, a fading trail of gaseous breadcrumbs. Pale skin rose in purple goose pimples along her arms; Marietta wrapped Flitwick's conjured cloak around her tighter, thankful her task had merely been to catch and charm some of the wilful fairy lights flittering around the Great Hall, instead of toiling alone and without magic in the depths of the school. McGonagall really _hadn't_ been fair, despite her reputation. Then again, (almost) everyone hated Slytherins.

In her following two and a half years at Hogwarts, Marietta never spoke to Rebecca Windstone again. Occasionally, however, both girls could be caught eying the other: two mouths twisting with intermingled desire and carefully bred disgust, the dangerous knowledge of what might have been impossible to disregard completely.


End file.
